South Fork of the Holston (VA) and Watauga (TN) River Trout Fly Fishing

I wanted to head back to the Pisgah National Forest to try to get in some sunny day hikes that eluded me a few years back and on the way there hit some new trout streams. I always get excited when the mountains start to loom in the distance.

For the first leg to the South Fork of the Holston River, I was hoping to join my friend Chris, but a death in the family threw a wrench in the plans and I had to fish it solo. Chris graciously provided some excellent maps of the river which guided me to key access points.

There is a dam in the river and I decided to enter just below the dam and work my way upstream.  Just follow the gravel path to the stream.

It's pretty inconspicuous on the map so I've labelled the location of the dam.  This is what that portion of the stream looks like.

In the drizzle, I caught a beautiful little rainbow on a parachute Adams; it still had its parr marks.

As I walked upstream, I saw many large crayfish in the water.

One even attacked a small brookie I caught as I released it still stunned from the catch and release. 

I shooed him away and the brookie swam off unharmed.  I did tie on a CK crayfish pattern and plumbed the depths of the dam's plunge pools, but to no avail.  Upstream I went.  There's beautiful water above the dam; it looked like this:

Nice pools and long runs.  With the rain, the water was moving pretty fast, so I switched to a small stimulator, frequently interrupting my casting to blow on the fly and apply floatant to keep it bouyant.  That combination proved successful and I landed both a gorgeous rainbow...

... and a brown, completing the trout species hat trick.

It was getting dark so I headed back to the car, but on the way, a small feeder stream crossed the trail and I looked for another brookie.  I saw a tiny pool, but it looked promising.  On the first cast, a fish rose and took the stimmie - but instead of a brookie, I was shocked to see that it was a brown in that small trickle of a stream.  

Back at the car, I stripped down in the dark, and intended to make quick time headed to my campsite at Hurricane Campground.  However, without any cell service, my phone's navigation would not work and I had forgotten to download the map before losing services.  I lurched around in the dark for nearly an hour before I found service and could load the nav on my phone.  In the dark, I proceeded gingerly along the winding, dirt, single track road along Comers Creek.  I was praying for no oncoming traffic, downed trees or any other need to turn around since there was no visible shoulder, just a steep drop off into the gulch and river below.  

If it hadn't been pitch black, I would have seen this sign to greet me.

Not having a reservation, I found a site that looked dry and presentable (I chose site 10) and paid my fee at the kiosk, set up the tent, and went directly to bed. 

I got up the next morning and boiled water for coffee and oatmeal for breakfast as I took the tent down.  

The fly and footprint were wet, but the main tent was dry so I packed it in the car so I could let the wind dry the wet parts on my way to TN.  I got it all in the car before it started raining again.

I had to follow Comers Creek back out and in the daytime I noticed that there were pull-outs and even some nice looking campsites along the river that I could have used for free - next time!  I stopped at one nice looking section of Comers Creek and threw the same small stimulator in some promising water and instead of landing a brookie like I thought, a brown took the fly.

As I emerged from the dirt section of Comers Creek Road, I came across this verdant farm property as the storm clouds were giving way to the morning sun.  Pretty...

Back in the world of wifi, I was able to catch up with my buddy Paul from Bristol, TN and we made plans to rendezvous in Johnson City for lunch before heading to the Wautuga River.

Paul and I met up, had some nice a la carte tacos, and then made our way to the Watauga River Bluffs State Natural Area.

We had a short hike to the river that was pretty easy and as soon as we hit the water, we could see fish rising.  It didn't take us long to rig up, wade out and start casting.  In the river, there were these rock ledges closer to shore; further out the river got consistently deeper.  It was a beautiful set up.

At first, I couldn't tell what the fish were rising too, so I put on a small, size 18 sulphur.  Even though several fish were rising within range, I couldn't get them to take the fly.  I switched to a female, egg-laying Adams, with the yellow egg sac and that seemed to do the trick and the first rainbow came to hand.

I moved among the rock ledges targeting and catching rising fish, but I was drawn to this one rising consistently near my feet, seemingly unperterbed by my presence.  IT was so close I couldn't even cast, so I just reached over and dappled the fly on the water and he rose and swallowed it.  He ran for the next county, but I brought him to the net eventually.  Turned out to be my nicest fish of the day!

I hopscotched with Paul, moving upstream, but being mindful of the dam release that was supposed to bring rising waters to us at around 5pm.  Out of an abundance of caution, we stopped at 5pm having had a wonderful afternoon on the Watauga.

I bid farewell to Paul and continued on to my evening's campsite at Roan Mountain State Park.  I laid out the rain fly and opened the car windows for a wind-dry, and stopped midway to put the dry fly away and dry the footprint - perfect!  It took me about an hour so, as typical, I pulled in and searched for my reserved campsite in the dark.  I set up the tent and sparked up the MSR stove to make dinner.

While the dinner was steeping, I hit the head and found out that not only was the bathroom heated, but that it had hot showers!  After dinner, I took full advantage of that amenity!  Just as I settled down to sleep, it started raining again.

I woke up the next morning with no rain and quickly made breakfast as I deconstructed the tent.  Once again, I separated the wet footprint and fly from the rest of the dry tent.  I made it all back into the car before it started raining again.  I drove to the Roan Mountain State Park camp store, hoping I could get a weather report to determine if a Pisgah hike was reasonable.

I think I was their first customer and WAS able to get a weather report and it seemed promising.  Before leaving the park I inquired about hiking to the balds nearby and since it was a short hike, I decided to go for it.  On the climb up to Carvers Gap, the sun was out and the valley below looked dry and gorgeous!

Unfortunately, when I got all the way up to Carvers Gap, I was enveloped in clouds and mist.

Since I was already there, I decided to do the hike to get some warm up miles on the legs and prayed for some sky clearing.  Here's how the trail to Round Bald and Jane's Bald starts out.

It was only a little over a mile to Round Bald and the sections through the trees were very scenic.

Not really much to see at Round Bald.  Too bad, because it's supposed to have a 365 panorama of the surrounding mountains.

If I'm ever back in the area, I'll give it another try since it and Jane's Bald are such an easy short hike from the Carvers Gap parking lot.

Back at the car, I hightailed it towards the Art Loeb III/Black Balsam Knob trailhead with much anticipation.  I stoped at a Mickey Ds and switched the fly for the footprint using my widow drying technique. and made it to the trailhead shrouded in clouds and mist.  Deja vu all over again! 

The overnight forecast was for a few short periods of rain overnight with accumulations of about 0.1 inches of rain each - good weather for the Pisgah!  I hit the trail about 2pm in long pants, a wool t-shirt and raincoat.

I climbed steadily to the Art Loeb plaque on Black Balsam Knob and, like last time, the views were denied me. 

Nevertheless, I was feeling good and energized hiking solo.  As the Ranger Station reported, the trail had suffered from Hurricane Fred and the trail was washed out in places making the foot placement a little treacherous.  Looking down, I also became aware that some side toe rubber was coming loose, exposing the tread below.  A bad sign.  I prayed it would hold together until my exit the next day but started thinking about mitigation measures.

Even in the overcast skies and misty conditions, the vegetation was diverse and beautiful.  The blueberry bushes were putting on a show - some still had berries, but I did not partake.

The berries did make me think about bears.  You know how they say that bears smell like wet dog?  I was smelling a lot of wet dog smells.  I think finally though I was resigned to the fact that my wool shirt + sweat = wet dog smell.  I continued onward...

Before too long, I crested the knob that is Tennent Mountain.

Again, the view from the plaque was frustratingly familiar.  At 6,040 feet, no expansive view of the surrounding mountains or the valleys below.  Just mist, clouds and overcast skies.  

At least it wasn't raining like the last time we attempted to penetrate into the Shining Rock Wilderness.  I pressed on...

The trail gullies were deep, so I was constantly watching my footfalls.  But every once in the while I'd lift my head and take in the foggy view.  It was still gorgeous.  Bye and bye, I got to Ivestor Gap.

A spider web of trail converge and depart from here.  This trail leads to Grassy Cove Ridge, but that was not my trail to take. 

I was wayfinding solo and reveling in the in the self reliance.  I pointed myself towards Flower Knob and ascended into the Shining Rock Wilderness.   

Explosions of colorful blueberries lined my way....

Eventually, I made it to Shining Rock Gap.  This was the turnaround point on our last hike into this wilderness.  I has happy to push on into new territory.  "Hold on boots" I repeated over and over in my head.

Not long after the gap, the trail lead me into an outcropping of white rock, some sort of quartz I'm guessing.  I stopped to take in the striking juxtaposition of the quartz, dark woods, and forest floor. 

I climbed up on top of the monolith, but even after this feat was still not rewarded with any view and gingerly made my way back down. 

I kept pushing on deeper into the Shining Rock Wilderness.  I told myself that I would keep hiking until near darkness and then find a place to camp for the night.  I kept on towards Stairs Mountain.  Unfortunately, the trail came to a split without any trail marker.  I assessed the trail trying to discern which was the "main" trail but in the end just picked the right one.  I continued on for about a half an hour as the trail veered to the east, and got smaller, narrower, and was going downhill.  

It didn't feel right and there were no good camping sites, so I decided the safe thing to do was to backtrack to the Shining Rock where there were some good sites in the trees.

I found the site I had in mind, set up the tent, and started boiling water for dinner.  

I had made one mistake on my hike - forgetting a water bottle, so I had been hoarding water to make sure I had enough to get back out the next day.  I'm usually a camel so this wasn't too hard.  I made and ate dinner as the wind picked up and a slight drizzle started.  

I packed my required bear canister and located a memorable site 100 yards from the campsite on the other side of the trail.  While grabbing the bark of a tree, I felt a little squish.  As I shined my headlamp on the bark, I found this salamander climbing up the tree.  Scanning up and down, I found another hot on his heals.  Taking refuge from the flooded ground?

Once the bear canister was in place, I returned to the campsite.  Checking my phone, I had 3 bars, so I called Kathi to tell her I was alive and safe.  She started telling my about this guy who was wanted for murdering his girlfriend and was thought to be on the loose in NC.  As she was saying this, on speaker (I thought I was totally alone), two headlamps shined into my camp!

I told her I would call her back after I dealt with this intrusion, but the headlands turned back down the trail.  I called Kathi back and she was freaking out!  I reassured her and then, as the rain picked up, crawled into the tent.

The last time I was int he Pisgah National Forest, the daily, steady rain exposed a fly weakness in my group tent - forcing us to pitch it underneath our pavilion's roof (after taking a lot of ribbing).  On this night, the Pisgah dealt another death-blow.  As the rain and wind became more intense, water started leaking through my fly, collecting on the tent mesh, and then dripping on my down bag and in my face.  What to do.  I was perturbed, and that kept me awake for a while, but finally, I just pulled my raincoat over my head to divert the drips of water away from my face and eventually got some sleep.  Throughout the night, the rain and wind got pretty intense.  There was no let up and it really poured - contrary to the hike-deciding weather report.

I got up  the next morning, retrieved the bear canister, changed into a dry wool long-sleeved shirt and fresh socks, packed up my soaked tent, and got the hell out of there.  I knew I was gonna get soaked so my plan was just to keep moving to stay warm.  I must say, the wool shirt was key.  No fire, to use of water, I just had a dry energy bar and hit the trail.  I'd have a sip of water at key waypoints - Shining Rock Gap, Ivestor Gap, car.  

I made haste, watching my footsteps as the sole of my right boot continued to deteriorate.  Hang on buddy!  The rain was slow, but steady but the trail was still beautiful.  I embraced the wetness and my  wet-dog aroma.  

I backtracked to Grassy Cove Top but made a critical error at one fo the unmarked junctures.  I zigged when I should have zagged, and the trail got more incised, more eroded, and flat out dangerous.  I was cursing the Pisgah trial maintenance crews, the National Park, Hurricane Fred - it kept me focused and warm as the miles ticked away.   

When I finally picked my way to Ivestor Gap, and saw the passed this sign, I turned around to read it and rsealized my navigation error.  

The curses against trail maintenance crews were re-routed towards trail marking crews.  At this point, I was thoroughly soaked and I just wanted to get back to the car to strip and put on dry warm clothes.  I had no need to hike back up Tennent Mountain and then up to Black Balsam Knob at 6,214 feet.  So I took the easy way out and opted for the wide, graded, multi-use horse/bike/hiking trail back to the trailhead.  As anticipated, the hiking was easy, and I got to cross many ephemeral streams created by water coursing off the mountaintop.  I made quick time on the horse trail, talked to a mountain biker heading up (hat's off!), and made my way back to the car.

I tried to remind myself to take a selfie to document my soaked condition, but the desire to get dry overwhelmed all other thoughts and reason and soon I was in the car.  It was only Wednesday and I didn't have to be home until Friday, but since the hiking boots were failing, the tent fly was non-functional, and the tent and my sleeping bag were wet, I didn't relish another night or two of camping.  I made the command decision to drive the 7 hours home to rally and unpack and dry all the wet gear. 

On the way home, I got a call from my friend Will who was jonesing to go fly fishing.  So a Plan B was hatched.  I would go home, tend to the gear, get a good night's sleep and then hit the road again to camp out in the Shenandoah and fish one of its streams.

I left Hampton Roads around noon, and I rendezvoused with Will outside Richmond around 3PM.  I oogled at all the trappings in REI to pass the time before Will's arrival.  Once on the road, we scuttled our plan to fish Thursday evening and instead opted for an enjoyable meal and a beer at Blue Mountain Brewery.  Good choice!  We camped at Hone Quarry campground, and even coaxed out a decent fire from some locally purchase, but unseasoned wood, wet kindling, a home-made firestarter and some pages from Blue Ridge Outdoors magazine.  The crackle of the fire, a cold beer, and the rush of the nearby stream lulled us to sleep.

We got up the next day and made breakfast as we broke down camp.  We navigated to the North River, above the dam, and Will counted river crossings to find the best water.  I fished upstream and Will concentrated on a section below.  This is some pretty water!

I threw the same stimulator, and started catching brookies straight off.  It was fun, easy fishing and that was nice, because we only had the morning to take advantage of.  The brookies were beautiful!

Even better in close-up!  Liquid jewels...

At around noon, we quit, hoped in the car and pointed east.  We called our good friends at Mossy Creek Fly Fishing and gave them a report and continued on to Richmond and then me home in Virginia Beach.  

It was a long week with some spectacular fishing in VA and TN, and an overnight drencher of a hike, championed with ample doses of resilience.  Still, I was grateful to spend it in the outdoors.  Picked up some new hiking boots at REI and I'm ready to go!

Thanks to all the friends that provided resources or company to fuel my adventure - Chris, Paul, Will.  I value your freindship.

Peace. 

  

 

Ramsey's Draft Social Fish Distancing - May 2020

Took a day off from the endless grind of teleworking to recharge with a day in the woods and on the stream.  The only thing that could've made it better was the companionship of friends.  On this trip JC and Will would join.

JC and I left Hampton Roads mid-afternoon and the Corona Virus traffic was mercifully light.  After one short detour, and a tour of the metropolis of West Augusta, we made it to the Ramsey's Draft parking lot.  

We surveyed potential camp sites and selected one by the river, JC in his MSR single and me in my trusty Big Agnes Copper Spur UL2.

We enjoyed a Swartzbier while we poked around the river and then returned to the campsite to cook dinner - couscous with tuna and salmon.  

After dinner, we pierced the inky darkness with a drive bak to West Augusta to get wifi and text Will our gameplan for the next day's fishing and coordinate on a rendezvous spot.  We texted him we would hike about 2.5 miles up to Jerry's run and fish around there 'til he arrived.  We returned to Ramsey's Draft and admired the stars, made sure the fire coals were managed, and let the rush of the stream put us to sleep.

We woke the next morning, made a quick breakfast, broke camp, donned our gear and hit the trail.

 As we hiked, we kept the river on our right.  Missing an orange stripe on a tree to mark a preferred stream crossing, we continued on through a canyon of poison ivy, stepping gingerly to avoid the scourge. 

On our way to Jerry's Run, we lost count of the stream crossings, but there were many.  Not difficult to ford, but slippery nonetheless.
Along the way. we admired the rock seeps, wild geraniums, trilliums, and other wildflowers that bloomed among the poison ivy.

Once we got above Fish Hollow, the poison ivy became less prevalent.  

By and by, in about an hour, we made it to Jerry's Run.  

As the map indicates, there is a campsite with a large fire ring on the right side of the trail.  

Big fire ring, but only enough open space for a few tents.  Plus the site was ringed with dead trees so, if you stay here, pray you don't hear a thump in the night!

Enough hiking, time to hit the stream!  I fished up from Jerry's Run, while JC headed down.  The water level was lower, but the promise hinted at the stream crossings was fulfilled as I waded upstream in search of deeper pools.  

Being that it was shallow, I swapped out my tungsten bead head pheasant tail for a brass bead version and was rewarded almost immediately with Virginia's state fish - a beautiful native brook trout.

You gotta love the colors on these fish!  I continued upstream picking fish out of the pools as I went.  

With JC's daughter's pink playmobile walkie talkie I heard Will over his more powerful Motorola version making headway up the trail to Jerry's Run.  Will had driven up from Richmond and then speed-hiked in anticipation to meet us at Jerry's Run.  JC met him at the trail crossing with me just above, but I couldn't tear myself away from the stream.  I kept fishing, around that bend, up to that tree, one more pool....  Will and JC went back to fishing.  All morning long, we had the stream and its beautiful pools to ourselves.

With the water shallow, the fish were super spooky and if you scared one at the tail of the pool, he would bolt to tell his cousins at the head and spoilt he pool.  Luckily, there were plenty to choose from.  Finally turning back to work my way downstream, I stopped for a little water and a snack before hop-scotching below JC and Will.  Over the radio, Will confirmed that he was doing well and had switched over to a parachute Adams.  For some reason, I couldn't hail JC, even when I walked right past him on the stream.   Damn playmobile radios!

I found a spot on the trail with a dry creek bed and used that to work my way to the stream.  On the way, I crossed this little wetland hidden in the woods.

I started off still fishing the pheasant tail with success.

But after seeing some bugs in the air and my first legitimate rise, I joined Will and switched over to a size 16 parachute Adams.  The Brookies crushed it!  And like Will, I caught my largest Brookies on the dry.

 I continued upstream as the rendezvous time neared.  There were just too many beautiful pools to ply and so little time.   Surprisingly, there were plenty of fish in the runs too - perhaps where you would not expect them with the water being shallow.   It was just good fishing all around.

 As the afternoon turned late, I spied this little fellow sunning on a rock and he let me take his picture.   

I'm no expert, and even though it was May, I believe this is a March Brown mayfly.   The pheasant tail nymph is a reasonable approximation for the March Brown nymph so maybe that's why it worked so well.  Doesn't explain the parachute Adams though, with its grey body.  Go figure.  Those two flies are the workhorses of any Shenandoah fly box.  They just work and work.

at 4:30 Will and I headed to the rendezvous point to meet JC.  JC finished off the day with a beautiful Brookie caught on a caddis fly.  Pretty work!

Back at the parking lot, we passed around the Smartmouth Alter Egos and kept our social distance as we recapped the day.  My back hurt, I was sore, but I wouldn't have changed a thing.  The previous evening's stream-side campout was salve for my soul and spending days with friends on the river are the stuff memories are made of.  These days will carry me through the COVID-19 pandemic to the other side.  Thanks for keeping the George Washington National Forest open.

Peace.